


Ignorance, Ire, Anguish

by angerwasallihad



Series: Behind the Curtain [6]
Category: Major Crimes (TV)
Genre: Episode Tag, Gen, Mother!ship, Zoo Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-05
Updated: 2015-01-05
Packaged: 2018-03-05 12:38:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3120440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angerwasallihad/pseuds/angerwasallihad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Should she feel grateful? That instead of keeping her boy and eventually pimping him out for drugs and money, dooming him to the sort of psychic pain and abuse that one never recovered from, she’d thrown him away like an old pair of shoes? That instead of damning him to a life wherein nothing came for nothing and his body was his only valuable asset, she’d left him to come to that decision on his own, a life lesson Sharon had worked tirelessly to help him un-learn? That by some random series of events, he’d landed in her lap? She wan’t grateful.  </p><p>She was enraged.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ignorance, Ire, Anguish

 

Sharon knocked softly on the door, then pushed it open quietly and stepped through. She squinted through the darkness, feeling her way over to the bed and kneeling down beside it. Gently, she pulled the comforter down a bit to reveal Rusty’s face and shoulders, still fast asleep in a tight angular ball, curled on his side. She brought a hand up to his shoulder, half-rubbing, half-shaking him softly awake.

 

“Urrumph.” 

 

An arm came up to rub his face from under the blanket.

 

“Honey, you don’t have to get up,” she whispered softly, still crouching at his level. She rubbed his back soothingly and brushed some hair out of his eyes as they finally opened and met hers. “But I have to go, alright?” 

 

She rarely went to crime scenes. Partly a vestige of those early days with the division, when she’d ceded the crime scenes almost entirely to Lieutenant Provenza, a compromise she’d been more than willing to make. But these days it was much less about maintaining the peace between herself and her second-in-command, and more about her unwillingness to leave Rusty in the house alone in the dead of night, which was when the majority of their murders came in. He had enough problems with abandonment without waking up to an empty house all those mornings. But she didn’t mind. Provenza was more than capable, and her strength as a leader had always been delegating and facilitating a cohesive group effort. 

 

Rusty grunted sleepily, finally forcing out a single word. 

 

“Where?” 

 

He started to sit up, but Sharon stopped him with a little pressure on his back from the hand still resting there. 

 

“No, Rusty, go on back to sleep. It’s two in the morning.” He relaxed against the mattress once more. “We’ve got a kidnapping, so I really have to go. You know the drill.” She pulled the comforter back over his shoulders again. “Text me if you need something, or go somewhere. There’s plenty of food in the kitchen.” She slowly rose to a standing position again, her fingers brushing over the hair around Rusty’s face once more. “I’ll call you later.” She turned back to the door. 

 

“‘Kay. Bye,” Rusty’s sleepy muffled voice whispered in her wake. 

 

She turned back to look at him once more at the door. He’d been so strange yesterday evening; not really moody, but quiet. Lost in thought. He’d barely touched the burgers she’d brought home especially, didn’t even tease her about the sweet potato fries she’d ordered rather than the regular ones. 

 

_“Rusty, are you—“ She stopped herself. Clearly he wasn’t ready to talk about it yet._

 

_Was he still working through all that had happened last week when Ricky came to visit? The first couple of days had been a bit of a catastrophe, but they had seemed alright by the end._

 

_Rusty hadn’t even looked up from his plate at her unfinished sentence, still practically boring holes through the table with the intensity of his gaze. Sharon knew better than to push him when he was like this. So much of this carefully constructed life they’d built together was about his ability to make his own decisions whenever possible. She was always in charge, there was no doubt about that. But Rusty was always in control. Of course, Sharon was always able to craft the decisions he faced, particularly in those early days, in such a way that he always made the ‘right’ decisions. It wasn’t manipulation, she reasoned. It was careful guidance. But Rusty was so smart. He had seen through her gentle suggestions quite early on. So here they were. Sharon, still presenting his life decisions in such a way that the proper choice was obvious, and Rusty, knowing what she was doing and just letting it go, occasionally teasing her about it when she was a little too obvious about it._

 

_It worked. But this, sitting next to her at the dinner table, whatever ‘this’ was, was delicate. She could tell. If she pushed, she knew his fight-or-flight instincts would be triggered. Excruciating as it was, she had to wait. Let him bring it up himself._

 

_He was still staring with frightening intensity at his half-eaten burger and fries. Deciding to try tobring him out of it slightly, she reached over and squeezed his forearm lightly. He jumped almost violently, eyes finally flicking up to hers._

 

_“Oh! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…” she trailed off for a moment, trying to formulate a phrase that might prompt a conversation without actually, well, prompting one. This was not going well. She cast around for some reason to have disturbed his thoughts. “Could you, uh, pass the pepper please?” She pointed at the salt and pepper shakers on his other side. He nodded absently and passed them over to her almost robotically, avoiding her gaze. He didn’t notice when she set them down on the table without using them._

 

Standing in the doorway now, considering his sleeping form in the darkness again, Sharon couldn’t shake an uneasy feeling in the back of her mind. Rusty was facing something; a choice. Because that’s what life is, isn’t it. A series of choices, each one leading to another. But he wasn’t ready to let her in on this one. 

 

She closed the door softly behind her, leaning against it for a moment and tying off the long black trench coat wrapped around herself. Sharon allowed the uneasy feeling to take her, but only for a moment. Then she straightened and made her way out of the apartment. 

 

It was nearly noon before she got the chance to check in on him again. And all she really had time for was a hurried phone call. 

 

“Oh, hey, Sharon.” 

 

The unmistakable sound of a cellphone being used in a moving car rustled in her ear. Trying valiantly not to sound at all concerned, she replied, “Oh. I’m sorry Rusty. I didn’t realize you were driving. Should I call back later?” In truth, she was more than a little concerned now. 

 

“No, it’s cool.” 

 

The background noise stopped rather abruptly and she heard a car door open and shut. 

 

“I’m actually just downstairs from you,” he continued. “I, uh… Well I was bored. And I was sorta hoping I could maybe get a couple minutes with Lieutenant Provenza?” He finished hopefully. 

 

“Oh.” A little surprised, Sharon looked up from her desk to see Mike waving at her from the Murder Room. She nodded at him and held up a finger. “Yes. Well, Rusty, we’re very busy around here today with this kidnapping, but I’m sure the Lieutenant could spare a few minutes for you.” She got up and began to walk towards her office door.

 

“Okay.” 

 

Sharon opened the door and began to walk through it as she tried to wind down the conversation. “But I really have to go now. So if I don’t see you while you’re here, I’ll see you at home later.” She finally hung up and joined Mike, Julio, Buzz and Provenza in the Murder Room. 

 

Provenza’s quiet disappearance a few moments later did not go unnoticed. There was a part of her that was a little hurt by Rusty’s inclination to go to the Lieutenant first. That small, selfish voice that aided in her ongoing quest for new shoes and sometimes wished Jack would just ‘accidentally’ drive off the edge of Mulholland. That tiny part of her wanted Rusty to come to her with these things. She wanted to know what it was. She wanted to help. So maybe it wasn’t so selfish. But in her heart of hearts, she was glad that Rusty had a male role model in whom to confide. That was at least one thing he had over her other children. And she could definitely live with that. 

 

Predictably, she didn’t make it home that night. Even though they’d recovered the missing officer before the end of the day, the debriefings and loose ends had kept her downtown until the next morning. Sharon finally had time for a quick shower and change of clothes back at the condo by seven o’clock. 

 

The apartment was still dark and quiet when she entered, exhausted and sore. Sharon headed straight for the shower, trying to stay quiet and let Rusty sleep. They were like ships passing in the night, at least for the last few days; but as much as she hated leaving him alone during the day, especially when she suspected he was working through something big, she couldn’t bring herself to wake him. 

 

But it hadn’t mattered in the end. He was awake, dressed, and making her a pot of coffee by the time she was clean and dressed once more. 

 

“Hey.” He was leaning against the bar, facing the table as she walked in. “You got in late. I made you some coffee.” he pointed vaguely behind him. 

 

Sharon could have hugged him. He was unbelievably sweet sometimes. “I didn’t get in at all, actually. And I have to go right back. But thank you for the coffee.” She made her way over to the coffee-maker and busied herself with making a cup. Rusty turned in place, now leaning over the bar with his elbows braced on the surface, still watching Sharon. He had that look on his face. The one that Sharon knew all too well. It was nervous, conflicted, and a little guilty. The look that generally preceded a conversation that began with, “Sharon, now don’t freak out…” A little concerned by what she was about to hear, but mostly just relived that he seemed ready to let her in on this latest crisis, she turned toward him, stirring her coffee a little and leaning back against the counter behind her. She waited. 

 

“Can I ask you something, Sharon?” 

 

She hummed softly in reply, sipping from her coffee. 

 

“When my Mom came back, why didn’t you arrest her?” 

 

Sharon looked up sharply. “I’m not sure what you mean.” 

 

Rusty looked down at his hands, twisting them nervously on the counter in front of him. “Well, like, when you tried to get her to come back the first time, you said that there were like, some laws and stuff that you guys had to take into consideration or something.” His eyes met hers again. “And I didn’t really get it at the time, but you must have told the police in Reno something to get them to, like, find her and get her on the phone. And you don’t lie. So it must have been real. But you didn’t send someone to go bring her here by force. You made her a deal, right? And let her come on her own.”

 

She set the mug down on the counter behind her and walked back toward him, standing on the other side of the sink. She wasn’t sure where this conversation was going, but she was sure it was nowhere good. 

 

“Why are you asking about this now?” 

 

He swallowed, looking back down at his fidgeting hands nervously. 

 

“I’ll tell you in a minute, Sharon. But can you just answer, please?” 

 

Sharon was quiet for a long moment, organizing her thoughts carefully. “Alright. But I really don’t think it matters, since she never made it here at that time.” 

 

Rusty straightened, looking directly at her now. “Okay, but when she came back for real, Provenza got her out of the rehab for the day by saying something about, like, child abandonment charges. So you guys could have arrested her. But you didn’t.”

 

Sighing and running her fingers through her hair, Sharon nodded. “You’re right. We could have. But there were many different reasons that we didn’t.” She brought up a hand and pulled off her glasses, watching Rusty intently as she continued. “That first time, I didn’t arrest her or ask the Reno police to arrest her because a willing participant is always much more amenable to a negotiation.” She kept the second reason to herself for the moment, moving on. “And with her recent appearance…” Sharon trailed off, choosing her words carefully. “From a police perspective, there wasn’t a purpose to it. It was immediately clear that she was serving out a court mandate, and I didn’t see the good in pressing charges for something that she seemed to be trying to make up for.” Rusty was nodding, seeming to take it all in silently, so she continued steadily. “As you’ll recall, I didn’t arrest Mr. Dunn either, when I definitely could have.” She smiled reassuringly over at him. “I’ve been doing this for a long time, you know. And I’ve found that arresting people is not always the best solution.” Finally she stopped, watching him consider her words for a moment. 

 

“Okay,” he began slowly. “But those are just rules, and like, your job. I want to know the other reasons.” 

 

Buying herself a little time, she turned back to her mug of coffee behind her. “Well, Rusty, when I arrest people, I’m doing my job.” She sipped her coffee for a moment. Loathe as she was to admit it, she wasn’t someone for whom emotional openness and transparency was easy. It was one of the reasons she had been such a good fit for Rusty, and she knew that. The irony of this moment wasn’t lost on her; Sharon, moments ago wishing for some personal openness from Rusty, determined not to push him into anything, now being pushed into a conversation about her personal feelings that she knew might very well force Rusty into a defensive position. It might be funny if she weren’t so exhausted.

 

At her words, Rusty groaned and turned away from her, back toward the table. “Come _on,_ Sharon. You know what I mean. You are not just a detective!”

 

Smiling at his dramatic gestures of exasperation, Sharon came around from behind the sink to join him at the table, coffee still in hand. 

 

“You’re right. I’m not. But I do have to take all those rules seriously, and follow them exactly when it comes to things like this. So when I make decisions like those, the law _is_ a major consideration.” She saw Rusty open his mouth in indignation again, rolling his eyes. “Don’t roll your eyes, I’m not finished,” she said playfully. “But, as your m—“ she stopped, mentally berating herself. “M—uh, guardian,” she flubbed a little lamely, “it is my job to make sure that every decision I make is in your best interest. My primary concern _has_ to be your well-being.” Her verbal slip had not gone unnoticed. Rusty was sitting across from her at the table now, avoiding her eyes in a gesture of mild embarrassment and discomfort at the quiet, personal tone and nature of her words as well as her near-misstep. “So when I made those choices about people directly related to you, I had to consider your best interests, then the restrictions of the law.” 

 

Rusty nodded. “Okay. So then, after she…” he trailed off, and Sharon knew they were both thinking of that awful last phone conversation. “…uh, got out. You didn’t do anything then either. When I know you could have, if you wanted…” 

 

Sharon was quiet. Truthfully, Sharon Beck hadn’t done anything worthy of arrest that night, to her knowledge. But Rusty was right. If she’d thought it would help, Sharon certainly could have had her arrested. “It wouldn’t have helped anyone, Rusty. Least of all you.” Sharon smiled, trying to tamp down the rising panic at the direction of their conversation. “And that’s my number one concern.” Pushing her glasses back onto her face, she watched him intently as she spoke. “Now honey, are you going to tell me what’s going on?” 

 

She was almost sure she knew. She just hoped she was wrong. 

 

“Okay… But don’t freak out, Sharon.” 

 

Almost amused out of her concern for what was coming next, Sharon nodded. She’d known this was coming. It was sort of…nice. Knowing what she was in for with him before he opened his mouth. Somewhat lessened the panic fluttering and almost palpable in the air around her. Sure, she didn’t know exactly what the crisis was yet, but at least she knew there _was_ one. 

 

“Well, my Mom called on Friday.”

 

Not wholly unexpected, the news still weighed heavily on Sharon. Her face remained impassive, however. “Oh?” 

 

“Yeah. And she’s—uh—she’s in the county jail.” 

 

Sharon slumped a little in sympathy. “Oh, Rusty. I’m so sorry.” That wasn’t quite what she had been expecting. Her mind had been running rampant with increasingly serious situations in which Sharon Beck was directly involving Rusty in a series of illegal activities. Jail was bad. But not nearly so bad as she had been imagining. 

 

“But Sharon, I _really_ don’t want you to go out of your way or anything. I’m not asking you to get her out or anything like that, okay? I just, like, don’t want to cause any more problems for you.” 

 

“Rusty, I’ve told you a hundred times. You are never a problem.” Sharon smiled a little tearfully and touched his hand lightly. “Now, what can I do to help? Do you want me to take you to see her later—?”

 

“No, no, no, no. I really don’t want to put you out.” He looked away a little guiltily. “And, um. I kinda already went to see her. On Friday, right after she called.” 

 

“Ah. And how was that?” Sharon fought to maintain an appropriately unconcerned expression as she finished her coffee, her voice light and unchallenging. 

 

“Fine. Whatever.” He shook his head. “That’s not what I want to talk about. She got arrested for shoplifting.” 

 

Sharon sighed, putting down her empty coffee cup and opening her mouth to speak. But Rusty cut her off. 

 

“No, no. I don’t want you to get her out or anything,” he said earnestly. “I already talked to Lieutenant Provenza. And like, he found out for me that it wasn’t just shoplifting.” He stood up and started to pace a little nervously behind his chair. “She took, like, some stuff from a department store and some other stuff, but she also had some drugs in her purse.” 

 

Heart sinking fast, Sharon remained silent. She’d been here enough, with an addicted loved one, to desperately wish she could save Rusty from this sort of disappointment. She knew she would never put him through this sort of emotional trauma. She knew he would never do it to anyone he loved. But the fact that she couldn’t protect him from the vicious cycle of his mother’s addiction was almost more than she could bear. 

 

Rusty was still speaking. “So the lieutenant says it’s not just, you know, the shoplifting, but also she violated her parole. And that means she has to do, like, six years.” 

 

“Mm-hmm,” Sharon hummed neutrally. “And how do you feel about that?” 

 

“I don’t know, Sharon.” He finally stopped pacing, leaning over the back of the chair with a heart wrenchingly conflicted look on his face. “I mean, I was saying to the Lieutenant that jail isn’t exactly, you know, a bad thing. Because I’d know where she is. And she probably wouldn’t be doing drugs.” 

 

At that last comment, Sharon opened her mouth, then closed it, deciding to let it pass for the time being. 

 

“But six years… It just seems like kinda… Well, a lot.” 

 

Nodding once more, Sharon kept her silence, waiting for Rusty to finish. 

 

“So I was thinking maybe, there could be a deal or something…?” 

 

Sharon was quiet for a long minute, contemplating her empty mug. 

 

Finally, she looked up at his hopeful face and smiled slightly. “If that is what you want, Rusty, I’ll see what I can do.” She got to her feet, setting her mug in the sink. “And for what it’s worth…” She started to walk toward the door, trailing off for a minute. “I am so sorry about all of this.” 

 

Their eyes met for a time, silence stretching between them in spite of the clear communication passing from one to the other. 

 

“Alright,” she said finally, turning to leave. “I’ll be back later. Call me if you need me.” 

 

*****

 

Lieutenant Provenza was waiting for her when she arrived at the office a few minutes later. 

 

“Ah, Lieutenant. Just the person I was hoping to see.” She smiled as she stepped of the elevator. “I understand that you and Rusty have come up with some negotiation points for this business with Sharon Beck.” 

 

The Lieutenant paused for a moment, looking uncomfortable. “I think you’re going to want to hold that thought for a moment, Captain.” He started to walk toward the murder room, handing over a few files. “These just need your signature, then this whole kidnapping mess will be someone else’s problem.” 

 

Sharon skimmed through the various forms and reports as she walked through the door Provenza was holding open for her. They walked back toward her office in relative silence as she looked through the paperwork. When they reached the room, she absently closed her purse up in the usual drawer of her desk and pulled out a pen to sign off on all the paperwork. 

 

“So, Lieutenant. About this deal for Sharon Beck…”

 

Provenza held up a hand to silence her. “Ah. Before we get to that, I think you should join me in electronics.” He gestured for her to precede him out the door. Curious and a little concerned, Sharon complied, allowing him to guide her quietly back across the empty Murder Room into electronics. 

 

“Now that Officer Sherman has been safely located,” Provenza began, holding the door open for her and allowing Sharon to stand in front of the blank monitors next to Lieutenant Flynn, “and the Feds have taken over the human trafficking aspect of the case, I think it’s time for you to check in with Rusty’s Mom.” He pointed toward the monitors and Buzz, looking supremely displeased at the prospect of whatever was about to happen. 

 

For her part, the panic that had been slightly lessened after her discussion with Rusty a short while ago was now back in full force. Clearly she hadn’t heard the whole story. The expressions on everyone’s faces did not instill her with much confidence. 

 

“I’ve cued up the really awful part of their visit,” Buzz said uncomfortably from his seat in front of her. 

 

There had been a really awful part? More awful than blaming Rusty’s sexual orientation for her drug use? More awful than calling that beautiful boy less than 24 hours out of rehab, drunk and needy again? More awful than abandoning that boy at an urban zoo with no resources in the first place? 

 

At a certain point, didn’t one’s humanity step in? She turned to look at Andy, apprehension etched in her face. Seeking she didn’t know what in his face. 

 

“Trust me,” he said sadly. “You’re gonna wanna see this. Buzz?” 

 

True panic and apprehension setting in now, Sharon finally turned back to the monitors as she heard Sharon Beck’s voice issuing from the speakers. 

 

“Is there any way you could…I don’t know, come up with five hundred dollars?” 

 

Sharon stared intently at the images of Rusty and his mother in front of her, listening hard, fearful of what horror awaited her. Why had he gone there without telling her? She would never have stopped him from going, but she would have done…something. He didn’t deserve to see his mother that way. 

 

“And, where do you think I’m supposed to get five hundred dollars, Mom?” Rusty’s voice had that stressed, uncomfortable pitch to it. That tone she knew so well, that indicated how close he was to true distress. Lately, she’d only heard it when he’d worked himself into another state, worried that he was causing her problems. Hearing it now was so much worse, knowing it was caused by someone or something else external. 

 

“I’m… D’you…?” Sharon Beck stopped.

 

For a heart-stopping moment, Sharon thought the woman was going to suggest Rusty sell something. Probably something of Sharon’s. 

 

The reality was so much worse. 

 

“D’you still do that work you did, on the side?” 

 

For a moment, Sharon didn’t fully comprehend what she’d just heard. She froze, transfixed; unable to process the words. 

 

“When I was away? I wouldn’t judge you—” 

 

Sharon’s eyes widened as her brain slowly began to process the horror unfolding before her. It was Rusty’s response, however, that both broke her and got the cogs behind her eyes to start moving once more. 

 

“Are you serious, Mom?! NO! I do _not_ do that work anymore. And never talk to me about that again!” 

 

His voice broke; and with it, Sharon’s heart. Her eyes widened. Her heart pounded. And worst of all, tears threatened. She swallowed hard, fighting to focus on Sharon Beck’s next words. 

 

“You know what? Forget it. _Forget it_ , okay? Forget it.” 

 

Buzz paused the tape, and everyone was silent.  

 

Finally, a low, quiet growl broke the silence. A voice that Sharon suddenly realized was issuing from her own mouth. 

 

“Play it again. From the beginning.” 

 

Somehow in context, her shock and horror intensified. The threatening tears disappeared, her expression hardened, developing into cold and carefully controlled rage. 

 

When it was over, she walked silently from the room straight back into her office, shutting the door firmly behind her, pulling the blinds sharply closed. 

 

_“D’you still do that work you did, on the side…?”_

 

Sharon closed her eyes against the reverberating words, leaning against the closed door heavily and drawing in a shaky breath. Her hands clutched desperately at the hem of her blazer, tugging at it unsteadily in her rage and anguish. 

 

Rusty’s silent moody contemplation of his dinner the other night suddenly all made sense. The way he’d closed off, seemingly without warning. His sleeping form curled into a tight, protective ball when she’d woken him so briefly hours later. 

 

She wasn’t really religious; she knew her prayers, had memorized the saints, and said her vows. She knew all the rules. But she didn’t always believe in God. She didn’t always doubt his existence either. There had been moments in her career and indeed her life, more than she’d care to admit, when she’d wondered if there really was a God. The first time she’d seen a murdered child, back when she had been in uniform. The evening she’d been called to the home of an officer who had shot and killed his entire family, asleep in their beds, before turning the gun on Sharon, the detective who had suspended him without pay for excessive force. The day Jack had left her with nothing but a letter, two bawling children, and scarcely two hundred dollars. Never before had she so wanted to rage and scream at that God. 

 

A God who brought that sullen, ungrateful, but somehow irresistibly good young man into her life. But who also allowed all the pain and suffering that brought him to her in the first place. The God who supposedly created that beautiful mix of funny, smart, and sweet that somehow existed in that wonderful boy waiting for her at home. But who also gave that precious thing to two people who couldn’t possibly take care of it. A God who looked on as man after man, including Rusty’s own father, physically abused him. Who watched as the fifteen-year-old was forced to submit to rape and sexual abuse in order to survive. A God who allowed this woman, his mother, to use, abuse, and abandon him time after time. 

 

_“D’you still do that work you did, on the side…?”_

 

Unbidden, another voice entered her mind. 

 

_“No. I didn’t sleep with him. Not me.”_

 

Suddenly, Sharon could see Wade Weller’s mother so vividly, in such detail that it was painful. That sterile, but nauseatingly so, smell of prison floating off of her meth-ravaged skin and mouth. The almost chillingly calm voice with which she detailed how and when she pimped out her own son at the tender age of thirteen. 

 

Taking another unsteady breath, she opened her eyes, looking around the room without really seeing it, her vision blurred with the tears now beginning to fall. A trembling hand—was it anger, or despair that made it shake so?—pulled her glasses down her face. Her quaking hands proved unable to maintain their grip, and the spectacles tumbled to the floor with a clatter. 

 

She didn’t retrieve them. 

 

Her hands curled tightly around her torso as she continued to lean heavily against the door. 

 

_“…And all of those guys who picked me up on the street. And I can’t fix it, Sharon. I can’t fix it. I am just like them, Sharon. I am just like them.”_

 

There was a part of her that had been relieved after meeting Weller’s mother. A part that had rejoiced at the differences in their stories. At the idea that at least his mother had never done that. Never stooped so low as to sell her son for parts. Realizing now how wrong she had been, Sharon’s fists clenched at her hips, her teeth gritting as the anguish turned into full-throttled rage. 

 

Realizing the full implications of Sharon Beck’s comment, Sharon breathed deeply, crouching to retrieve her glasses at last and pushing them roughly back on her face. She rose slowly back to her feet and walked deliberately over to her desk. 

 

Should she feel grateful? That instead of keeping her boy and eventually pimping him out for drugs and money, dooming him to the sort of psychic pain and abuse that one never recovered from, she’d thrown him away like an old pair of shoes? That instead of damning him to a life wherein nothing came for nothing and his body was his only valuable asset, she’d left him to come to that decision on his own, a life lesson Sharon had worked tirelessly to help him un-learn? That by some random series of events, he’d landed in her lap? She wan’t grateful.  

 

She was enraged. 

 

Sharon’s hands weren’t shaking anymore as she reached for the phone receiver on her desk and quickly dialed. The tears had stopped, and her face had gone stonily cold again. 

 

“Andrea. I need you to draw up a statement of facts.” There was a pause as she listened. “No. For Sharon Beck.” 

 

When she exited the office a few minutes later with her keys and purse in hand, Lieutenant Provenza was already on his feet, hurrying towards her. Andy was lurking in a corner, looking unsure as to whether he should jump in as well. Sharon saw Provenza give him a look, and Andy rolled his eyes as he turned away. 

 

“Captain. Where are you off to?” Provenza stood solidly in her path, blocking her way to the door. 

 

“Home, Lieutenant. It’s the weekend, and we’re finished here.” She made to step around him, but he moved with her. 

 

“And would that be by way of the county jail?” 

 

Sharon quirked an eyebrow. “Not that it’s any of your business, but yes. I thank you sincerely for your concern, but _excuse me_.” The final words were spoken in that deadly quiet voice that even Provenza knew to fear.” 

 

He stepped aside, and she passed briskly by him. 

 

“Don’t forget, they take your gun at the gate, Captain. I hope you have a back-up plan!” He shouted a little exasperatedly at her retreating back.

 

 *****

 

When Sharon arrived at the jail minutes later, all outward signs of her earlier heartbreak had disappeared. Her cold, calculated ire remained, however. She took a deep, calming breath as the guard finally buzzed her into the visitor area, pausing for the smallest of moments before walking over the grate. 

 

She glided slowly down the narrow walkway behind the booths, finally stopping in front of the only occupied unit. Sharon Beck was already seated. As Sharon pulled the cold aluminum chair back and slowly lowered herself into it with a determinedly neutral expression, she saw that the woman had the nerve to look happy to see her. Sharon settled herself slowly and calmly in the chair, pulling it forward a little, eyes never leaving Sharon Beck’s. Still making herself comfortable, Sharon wondered for a moment if Rusty’s mother across from her realized how very lucky the two of them were, to be separated by that sturdy glass partition. Lucky in different ways, of course. But still unbelievably lucky. 

 

Sharon finally stilled in her seat and reached for the receiver slowly as Sharon Beck did the same. 

 

Rusty’s mother smiled broadly at her through the glass, speaking first. “Captain Raydor. I—uh, is my son okay?” 

 

Sharon’s smile was perfunctory. The woman’s instinct was right. And yet, it somehow made all of this harder and more painful. “Yes, he’s fine.” 

 

The relief on the blonde woman’s face might have further incensed Sharon further at another time. Today, further rage seemed impossible. 

 

“I thought I would stop by first,” she continued quietly, “and discuss the outlines of a _deal._ ” 

 

Rusty’s mother smiled in tentative relief at her words. 

 

Sharon herself didn’t smile, didn’t waver; she maintained the same soft neutral tone she’d begun with, articulating each word slowly and deliberately. “I’ve talked with the District Attorney involved, and I’ve arranged a plea agreement for you.” 

 

Sharon Beck smiled broadly again in relief. More relieved, to Sharon’s eye, than she had been at Sharon’s assurance that her son was not hurt. 

 

“Thank God,” the woman across from her breathed into the receiver, clearly overjoyed. “Am I going back to rehab?”

 

Pausing for a moment, Sharon watched the woman through the partition, her anger disappearing for the briefest of seconds as she suddenly saw Rusty’s face staring back at her. Rusty’s blue eyes, sparkling with delight from behind that same broad toothy smile, a few strands of blond hair almost falling across his brow. 

 

The image was gone as suddenly as it had appeared, and Sharon spoke again. 

 

“No, no. I’m afraid that ship has sailed. However,” she went on, maintaining what to an objective outsider might seem like a light and helpful tone, “in exchange for overlooking your probation violation, we’ve arranged for you to serve the full year of your _shoplifting charge,_ here at county.” She watched with some satisfaction as Sharon Beck’s previous expression of relief and delight transformed into a mask of disgust and frustration. Sharon continued. “Or more precisely, three hundred and sixty- _four_ days, every one of which you will have to be sober.” 

 

Sharon’s voice didn’t threaten. It didn’t so much as rise above a stage whisper. Nevertheless, it made it unmistakably clear to Sharon Beck sitting across from her that this deal was a gift. There was no negotiation to be had, no possibility for amendment. 

 

“That’s not a deal,” the blonde woman said baldly into the receiver. Her smile and friendly facade had melted away rather suddenly. 

 

“Oh it is.” Sharon’s own voice had lost its light and friendly tone now, transforming into the icily detached tone that so characterized her displeasure. Sharon saw that the change didn’t pass unnoticed; Rusty’s mother was now fixing her with her own fiery glare through the glass. 

 

“If you don’t remain sober,” she began again, “or if you violate the statutes of prisoner conduct, I’ll personally see to it that the six-year tail on your sentence is carried out to the letter, in an _upstate prison._ ” She spoke softly and dangerously, eyes never leaving the other woman’s face as Sharon Beck shook her head in disbelief. 

 

“Are you KIDDING me?!” The younger woman exploded in indignation. “Because I don’t deserve this kind of treatment _at all!_.” 

 

Sharon watched her sadly again, visited by another flash of Rusty, loudly whining at her in frustration. 

 

_“Are you kidding me, Sharon? Are you kidding me?!”_

 

Of course, he’d punctuated it with that rather dramatic face-first flop onto the sofa, followed almost immediately by that characteristic scoff and sarcastic dig. But whereas that particular reaction to his supposed privacy violations was rather endearing, it just seemed pathetic from his mother. 

 

In the beginning, all of their fights had been marked by that tone of righteous indignation and perpetual victimhood. 

 

_“God, Sharon! More Rules!”_  

 

But at some point the shouting had stopped and rational discussion had won out. When the tone did manifest, as it had on that rather amusing morning when they’d discussed the prospect of Dr. Joe’s report, Rusty seemed aware of it. Somehow, he’d un-learned that as well. That instant defensive outburst that seemed to be the way Sharon Beck fought too. 

 

Of course, Rusty’s earlier visit with his mother had been a special case. 

 

_“NO! I do_ not _do that work anymore. And never talk to me about that again!”_

 

With an effort, Sharon pulled herself back to the conversation at hand. 

 

“Oh, I agree,” she replied, deathly quiet. “Unfortunately, anything more I could do to you would require a trial.” 

 

Sharon let that last word echo between them, the unwelcome results of such an action for both of them remaining unsaid in the subsequent silence. She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she could not take the issue for which she so wanted to hold this woman accountable to trial. She couldn’t put Rusty through that. And this deal was for him, whatever else it was. It was a deal that balanced his physical and emotional well-being with the confines of the law. 

 

“But I will make sure that you are drug-tested on a random basis,” Sharon barreled on. “I will have your cell searched regularly.” 

 

The woman across from her scoffed dramatically again, an unknowing reminder of once again how far Rusty had come in Sharon’s home. Sharon wasn’t visited by a flash of Rusty’s face making an identical expression. She knew he had at one time. But she couldn’t remember it. He didn’t do it anymore. He made different expressions. 

 

Once, a few weeks ago, Rusty and Sharon had been out shopping together. Rusty had been patiently—well, patiently for him—watching her try on shoes with this odd little crooked smirk on his face when the sales woman had commented smilingly on how much “your handsome young man favors his mother.” Sharon had been about to correct the mistake when she and Rusty both looked in the mirror at the same moment, seeing identical crooked smirks on the other’s face. That smirk had been hers first, Sharon knew. And yet there it was on his face, too. 

 

Sharon Beck’s voice broke into the momentary memory. 

 

“Anything else?” 

 

“I will have confidential informants report to me on your behavior,” Sharon started again, choosing to ignore the other woman’s continued scoffing and sarcastic attitude through the glass. “And, this I promise you: one slip, one tiny step off the straight and narrow to the left or to the right, and you will automatically add six years to your sentence.” She finally stopped, still gazing steadily through the partition at the other woman.

 

“Wha-Why are—“ The younger woman slammed at the table before her in frustration, pointing a finger accusingly at Sharon through the glass. “You are mad at me for some reason! I get it. I don’t know why.” 

 

Sharon didn’t flinch, just continued to bore through the barrier dividing them with her eyes. Silence stretched between them once more, and Sharon almost felt sorry for Sharon Beck in her blue jump suit and her perpetual attitude of the victim.  

 

_“D’you still do that work you did, on the side…?”_

 

Almost. 

 

She broke the silence, still speaking in nothing above that quiet deliberate tone. 

 

“That’s the problem.” 

 

That was the problem. Rusty sat at her dining room table, barely touching his favorite food, hardly speaking, allowing an internal conflict to which Sharon was still ignorant to eat him instead. That was the problem. Somehow, this poor boy had come into the world not knowing what it was to have someone else put him first. And so she had put him first. Every moment of every day for more than two years now. And this woman, the Sharon who had given birth to him, who had been charged with putting him first for every moment of the sixteen years before that, had nearly ruined that pattern of security Sharon had worked so hard to maintain. And she’d done it with a single sentence, manifesting a selfish streak that even Jack himself couldn’t hold a candle to. And this woman asked why. That was the problem.

 

“What about for Rusty’s sake?” Sharon Beck’s voice had taken on a tearful quality in Sharon’s ear now, a quality adopted far to quickly and easily to be earnest. “What about…for the sake of my little boy?” 

 

_“NO! I do_ not _do that work anymore. And never talk to me about that again!”_

 

Sharon refused to close her eyes or look away as the words echoed painfully in her head once more. Nodding slightly, she held Sharon Beck’s gaze unflinchingly as she replied, “This is for Rusty’s sake, it is.” 

 

Dropping all pretense, the younger woman scowled at Sharon through the barrier, speaking venomously. 

 

“You think you know me, is that it? And you think you know my son?” 

 

Still maintaining a calm and neutral expression, Sharon didn’t dignify the question with a response. 

 

“And you think you can just have me boxed up and outta the way?!” 

 

Sharon sighed a little sadly as the other woman’s voice began to rise again. For Rusty’s sake, she’d hoped that this would go as painlessly as possible. She’d done everything she could to avoid such a direct confrontation. Yes, she knew Rusty. She knew what it was to be on the receiving end of a suddenly caught addict’s almost violent frustration. She knew what this latest appearance by Sharon Beck was doing to both of them. She knew all of these things. And so much more. 

 

“Lady, let me tell you something…You just made a really big mistake.” 

 

But Sharon was finished playing this game. Finished letting Sharon Beck come in and tear down that wonderful young man she so resembled. Finished letting this woman or anyone else ruin all of her and Rusty’s hard work. 

 

Wrath pounding in her ears, powering her cold detachment, Sharon smiled. 

 

“I made a mistake?”

 

“Yes, you did!”  

 

Sharon shook her head sardonically. “Oh, dear.” 

 

Her tone was soft, unchallenging, chillingly dangerous. Sharon had spent decades maneuvering a man’s world, discovering that her power sometimes lay in embracing her femininity rather than banishing it. That well-timed emotion could get her what she needed. She’d spent a career carving out a presence that could silence with a whisper and terrify with a smile. 

 

Chilling smile still evident on her face, Sharon went on, “Allow me to point out that you are the one in the blue jump suit surrounded by guards… And I’m getting up to go home.” The unspoken words, _to my son_ , hung in the air between them for a moment before Sharon hung up the receiver and walked away, not once looking back. 

 

***** 

 

When she arrived home a short while later, Rusty was waiting for her on the couch, watching TV a little half-heartedly as he perched nervously on the end. He turned off the television immediately after she walked through the door and stepped out of her heels. She avoided his gaze for a minute while she hung her bag by the door and draped her jacket over a chair. She wasn’t sure she was ready to see her own anguish reflected in his eyes.

 

Rusty spoke first. “So, did you figure anything out for my Mom?” 

 

Sharon hummed softly in assent and moved over to sit next to him on the couch, curling up in the opposite corner to face him. 

 

“I did. I’ve arranged for her to serve one year at county. We’ll overlook her parole violation in exchange for pleading guilty to the shoplifting and remaining sober and well-behaved for the duration of her stay.” She watched him intently, gauging his reaction. 

 

Rusty visibly relaxed. “Thank you, Sharon,” he breathed quietly. His arms dropped from their rigid grip around his knees, his entire body seeming to uncurl and lengthen. 

 

“Of course, you are free to visit her if you would like, but first we need to talk about something related to that.” Steeling herself for what was coming, Sharon took a deep breath before fixing him with her unwavering gaze. “Rusty, you should know that communications between inmates and visitors are closely monitored.” 

 

Rusty blinked in confusion. “What, like, you tape them?” 

 

“Yes.” 

 

It seemed to take Rusty a few moments to process what she was getting at. 

 

“Oh,” he said after a pause. Then, comprehension dawning, “ _oh.”_

 

He glanced over at Sharon a little fearfully, opening his mouth to speak. But Sharon barreled on before he got in a word. 

 

“For obvious reasons, Lieutenant Provenza and I will both be personally monitoring your mother’s visits and any other communication. So bear that in mind.” She smiled reassuringly at him, hoping to counteract that terrible almost fearful anguish in his eyes. 

 

“Oh my God, Sharon. I really…I just really never meant for you to know about—I never wanted you to worry. God, I am causing, like, so much trouble, I—“ 

 

Sharon brought a finger to her lips, hushing him gently. He was working himself up over _her_ well-being. It would have been sweet in any other situation. Now it was just tragic. 

 

“Rusty. Don’t worry about that. Does my knowing it was said at all change what happened?” 

 

He avoided her gaze. “No,” he whispered into his lap softly. 

 

“Alright,” she answered soothingly. “Now, Rusty. Are _you_ okay?” 

 

He continued to avoid her gaze, hiding his face and staring into his lap. But Sharon saw his shoulders quake silently. As quietly as possible, Sharon swung her legs and feet back over the side of the sofa, sitting up and sliding silently toward Rusty, stopping a few inches from his place. With one hand, she tentatively reached over to touch his shoulder placatingly. He jumped a little at the touch, but didn’t move away. 

 

After a moment, his face finally rose to meet hers again. Lip quivering, tears rolling down his cheeks, he finally answered. “N-no. I am n-not okay, Sharon.” 

 

Her right hand, not occupied with his shoulder and back, gently moved up to cradle his face, her thumb rubbing his damp cheek slightly. 

 

“Oh, Rusty,” she breathed. Holding his face this way from their place on the couch, Sharon had a moment of deja vu. A flash of Rusty, broken and bloody from that penultimate encounter with Daniel Dunn. She knew that the worst kind of abuse wasn’t purely physical. Experience taught her that the silent injuries hurt more acutely and lasted longer. The proof literally rested in her hand. 

 

“Honey, I’m so sorry.” Her hand moved from his cheek up to his forehead, brushing his hair out of his eyes unnecessarily. 

 

To her surprise, he didn’t duck away this time. Instead, he leaned in past her hand, hiding his face in the crook where her neck and shoulder met, his arms wrapping tightly around her middle. Completely unprepared for the sudden move, her arms hovered in the space above them awkwardly for a few seconds before slowly coming to rest on his upper back and shoulders. Stroking his hair and back soothingly, she rocked them ever-so-subtly from their place in the center of the couch. Rusty’s silent sobs wracked her body as well, her own quiet tears eventually mingling with his on her blouse.  

 


End file.
